Into thin air

Arriving back in Bangkok on Saturday was like coming home. This place really does feel like home now. Comfortable, friendly and familiar.
I had an amazing time, although at times I was extremely uncomfortable and heart sore.
Beauty always does that to me.
Mountains usually bring out a reverential melancholy in me, and this time was no different.
For laziness sake, and also an attempt to convey a more accurate picture of the inside of my head, I'll copy a few extracts from the quasi-journal I kept over the course of the month.
By no means complete, this is only a glimpse into the very personal thoughts I kept.

Day 4
Namche Bazaar

To my suprise, all I can think about is her. I'm not trying to, but each brisk step churns out another memory.
I dreamed of her last night. It confused and disoriented me.
The chances of me being deep in the Himilayas if I was still with her are remote at best. The irony of it is that its the type of trekking she would have loved to do.





Day 5
Khumjung

The stillness bears heavy on me tonight. The air is desperately thin up here, an alien atmosphere compared to the rich air we wallow in at home. Each breath hard fought, and each step hard won.

I still have no clarity of thought, but the beauty of this place is changing something in me. There is no denying the beauty of this village, tucked high in the mountains. Neatly arranged fields enclosed by stone walls and surrounded by brightly coloured houses, are all connected by a warren of tiny paths and walkways, along which the local children run and play, their bright red cheeks glowing.
The harsh surroundings are starkly contrasted by their warm smiles and crisp laughter.
I wanted to run with them, and explore the village and mountains but my short sharp breaths and aching heart thumping in my chest reminded me I don't belong up here. I'm still not sure where I belong, or even if that matters, but it does give me joy to see other people belonging somewhere.

Day 8
Machermo

It occurred to me that I'm attracting the type of women I do because of the aspect of my personality that I portray when I meet them.
The girls I've really loved in my life have been attracted to a different side of me. One that I've not openly displayed for a long time. In part I sense this to be a reaction to what I perceive most women in Thailand want; A man who likes to have fun, is not too serious, and who pays her a lot of attention.

And to a degree, I do fit the bill.
But there is a much stronger facet to my personality that is perhaps less attractive to these girls, which ultimitely makes them unattactive to me.
But its not all that bad. I'm glad to have explored this lighter side of my psyche, even if the darker side is where my strengths lie. I need balance.
Ironically I had to sacrifice what needed that balance in order to get it.

Day 9
Gokyo

The sun is gliding across the icy blue waters in defiance of the snowy peaks and resting warmly on my weary body.
People are venturing out to the lake but still not shedding any layers.
Here I write, layed out on a bench golden in the delicious sun, pondering love and ultruism.
"The Himilayas will change you" reads the park entry.
I'm not sure about changing, but its definitely reminding me.
Embers of memories of dreams are glowing faintly, warmed by my proximity to the sky.
I like whats been happening to me these last two years. I like that I know a little more aabout what I like aand don't like.
This unfurling can be uncomfortable sometimes. Mostly when I'm reminded of what I've lost, or when I realise that I'm not really found.

The sun is preparing to slide behind the mountains and wisps of cloud are joining forces in anticipation of the coming dark.
Tomorrow we head up Gokyo Ri to a height of 5360 Metres above sea level. My body is tired, and I'm growing tired of this nomadic life in this freezing sherpa kingdom. I'm doing it because I know how much I'll value it once I've done it.
My bed is still cold, but I know that it warms up after a couple minutes of me lying in it.
I'm think I'm ok with that.

Day 15
Darjeeling
The cold is a wall of damp grey, sitting heavuly on this hill. I'm in bed at 5 o'clock with my socks pulled over my long underwear, just like mom used to show me how.
Again I can't shake this heaviness from my chest. Its silly and I know it is.
I'm too sensitive.
Too much of a crybaby.
But I just can't shake it.
in time
memories fade
senses numb
one forgets
how it feels
to have loved completely.


Why does the rain affect me so? I almost wish arthritis and a warm heart on myself, rather than this drenching sorrow. Yesterday on the plane, as we broke through the clouds, my heart leapt to see the golden wisps dancing in the cerulean evening.
My heart, the ever accurate weather indicator.
When I'm this lonely I find the tendrils in my brain reaching out for any warmth, hastily making short sighted plans to meet J again, to hold P's hand, to sleep over at A's.
I know these people bring me none of what I really want, but is it so bad to take the inferior as a soothing balm every now and again?
Why am I so desperate?


Soft black roses
lay on her shoulder
skin on tragedy
hand in hand

when skin folds
around your azure eyes
teares fall slower
than before

winter falls again
on your red tree
walking laps around
i still can't find you.






***All photos are courtesy of Donovan Richards. My photos are undeveloped.***

Our mountain bed

Sliding uncomfortably into a week between two worlds, I find myself unable to process routine thoughts, or complete simple tasks.

The cold granite wall of Everest approaches steadily, casting shadows of doubt and fear, and behind me lies a marshy 6 months of relentless working, and weekends of debauchery, which, although being really good fun, have really squeezed whatever surplus energy I may have had.

The work is not over; reports still need to be written, second semester science curriculum still needs to be planned, and re-testing must still be done.
And yet, I just can't sit down and actually do it.
I wish it were a simple case of being worried about the Nepal/India trip, but its more than that.
It has to be, because this feeling is always with me and despite sometimes moving to the periphary i'm always aware of its presence.
I guess it just gets stronger when I'm under any sort of pressure, or when a potentially life changing event is about to happen.

Its usually triggered by a song, or by a passage in a book, and this time was no different.

Billy Bragg singing Woodie Guthrie's "Mountain Bed" swept me to a brown, green and blue memory, lying in the grass with her, deep in the Dragon mountains. Leaves lay softly in her hair splayed out golden on the ground as her fingers played in the icy stream of crystal water flowing beside her. Her other hand was entwined in mine, and we knew without saying, that we were both happy.
We spoke about the future that day, not with trepidation or doubt, but with a sure contented peace.

The stage then shifted right with a blur, and I was at the S.P.C.A second hand book shop with musty paper and ink filling the air with words. She left me to look at poetry books while she pottered about the children's section burying herself in her childhood.
It was then that I found a passage that struck such a chord within me, that in less than 8 months, I would be in a new country, away from the person I loved the most, trying to find the elusive life I dreamed of.

I found the passage today and it again struck the same chord. It sounded a little tired today, but it was there nonetheless.

I started here:
"... born in the pain of ending one life and beginning another, born in the excitement of the continuing search for life's meaning. Some people do not have to search, they find their niche early in life and rest there, seemingly contented and resigned. They do not seem to ask much of life, sometimes they do not take it seriously. At times I envy them, but usually I do not understand them. Seldom do they understand me."

My heart beat a little harder, as I read on with hot eyes:

"I am one of the searchers.There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover it's ultimate secret. We continue to explore life, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn to the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter."

Slowly, the bad memories started trickling through. Memories of me manipulating, and distorting fact and reason for my own selfish ends.
It boiled down to me being afraid that the person I loved didn't really share the same passions I did.

"We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we want to love and to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or to compete for love."

And in reverse, I didn't want to be trapped in a relationship that kept me from what was bubbling inside me.

And for my singlemindedness I received all this...

I still don't know if its what I want. But I'm pretty sure I couldn't have lived without it.

Its what I've lost that I still mourn for.
Is all this really just an attempt to justify my decisions?
I earnestly pray that it isn't.

So all day, I've chewed on these words like a ball of black tobacco.

"Passion, you see, can be destroyed by a doctor.

It cannot however, be created"

So no matter how much I long for what I've lost, I have to reconcile myself to the life I've created, and the future possibilities it holds. Losing passion would surely have been the wrong decision.
It the reconciling that takes it out of me.

"When Equus leaves--if he leaves at all--it will be with your intestines in his teeth"